A Boy At War
by OnTheImportanceOfLungs
Summary: There's not much I can say about the Dark Lord. He will be a difficult man to defeat, but many of us are willing to challenge him. I may still be a boy, unacquainted with the true horror of bloodshed. But as young as I am, my life has been marked by his wand, my body has been scarred by his magic. And I'm not the only one. We'll fight him together. AU from OOtP.


AN: Okay, I do care about this fic. Thanks to Luckylee for beta work, thanks to the folks at DLP for more in depth revision notes!

A shoutout to all the reviewers of the original incarnation! Thank you very much! I do read and respond to all of the reviews**.**

**I met a girl of a different kind…**

I knew three things about her the night that I met her. Of course, I knew her name. It was Daphne Greengrass. She had nice eyes, a piercing shade of violet. And she really hated flobberworms.

I knew she was Daphne because I was there when she was sorted. I knew she had nice eyes because we were staring each other down. And I knew she hated flobberworms because she had shrieked when Ron cut one of his open and sprayed it all over everyone in Snape's second year class.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

It was a Saturday afternoon, exams were long over and I was the Triwizard champion. We were standing on Hogwart's battlements, facing the Forbidden Forest. Most of the students were enjoying the weather, but even from here, I could see groups of students in clusters. There was a current of energy on the grounds of Hogwarts.

"I had to think." I didn't know the girl.

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice was a middling alto and possessed a harsh sort of beauty. It was a striking sound, the sound of war. She was a beautiful girl. But I didn't know her.

"Nothing much," I replied noncommittally. The Whomping Willow went on whomping in the distance. The Giant Squid squirted a fountain of black ink at two shocks of red who had to be the Weasley Twins.

I had won, but at what price? Cedric Diggory was of the honorable sort. In a twisted way, I was the reason he had died.

"The Dark Lord," she said. There was no question about it - she knew or she believed.

"Draco's been telling stories, hasn't he."

She shrugged, an equivocating gesture. "You're not a liar."

There was some about her which captured my attention. Maybe it was what she had said. Maybe it was that matter-of-fact tone. She sounded like the type of girl who believed in something.

We stared over Hogwarts in silence for a while.

"What are you doing here, Greengrass?" I asked in return.

"Had to think," she immediately said, then looked like she regretted her words. I smiled at her in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. I'm sure it looked more like a grimace.

"What are you thinking about?" I tried again.

"The Dark Lord."

"Oh."

There was another silence and I threw a series of surreptitious glances at her.

She looked closer to bursting each time.

"My father, he was a Death Eater," she suddenly said, unable to hold it in.

I bit my lip.

"He's dead now," she continued quickly.

I didn't say a word.

"I'm not convinced," she whispered suddenly. "I don't think it's true. I know it's not true. I know he died for _nothing_. For _nobody_."

I exhaled.

"But I didn't deserve it."

The setting sun cast a glow about her, painting her in red and gold. Her shadow was cast over the grounds.

"I deserve it much less than Draco Malfoy does, I know this for a fact. Why must I suffer for the sins of my father, when Draco Malfoy's entire family got away scot-free, Harry Potter?"

And then I heard it. The words which she had not spoken, a little current of madness which we shared.

_Why must we suffer?_

And I was not convinced either. Not convinced that he _shouldn't suffer as well_.

She walked away.

"This is a beautiful view," I said.

She paused, turning around to regard me more thoroughly.

"I'll see you next year, Harry Potter." She looked at me meaningfully.

"This is a beautiful view," I stressed. She nodded, and I thought I saw the ghost of a smile appear on her face.

…

**Everybody was for fighting, wouldn't want to waste a thing…**

It was three in the morning, but the fire was still burning bright in the Common Room.

"Knight G-five check."

"Resign," Hermione said, wearily. Ron nodded.

The pieces rearranged themselves. I turned to the next page.

"E-four."

"C-five."

"Knight F-three."

"Knight C-six."

"D-four."

"C-takes D-four."

Ron sighed. "Knight takes D-four. You really shouldn't play the Open Sicilian, Hermione. Bill's played the Najdorf and the Dragon in the Open Sicilian since I was five."

Hermione huffed. "It's not about whether or not I win. It's about the principle of the thing. Black needs to play for an advantage, not just to equalize."

"But you can't beat me on white either," Ron protested.

Hermione glared at him. "It's bigger than that. I need to play Black."

Ron gave her a bewildered stare. "You should always try to play White first. White gets to make decisions. White gets to play in a way that forces Black to respond."

"_Exactly_."

Ron looked around the room for support, then realized I was looking at them from the armchair I was reading in.

Then he saw what I was reading.

_The Rise of the Dark Lord, A History_ by Simon Goldstein.

"Oh." His face fell.

"G-six," Hermione decided.

"Letting me play the Marozcy Bind is suicide! You need to play for D-five in the…" Ron protested as I tuned him out.

_The fundamental theory behind the attack on Hogsmeade was a show of willingness to strike at a location under the aegis of Albus Dumbledore. February of 1980 is considered the singular moment when the Dark Lord's power base was most solidified politically and magically prior to the campaign of terror and death perpetrated in November of the same year._

_The amassed forces of the Dark Lord included his most brutal lieutenants - the Lestranges, the werewolf Fenrir Greyback and Emmanuel Greengrass. He was willing, by this point, to prove his superiority over Dumbledore in conflict. But he was not aware that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts Castle to meet with the International Confederation to request more funding for Britain's Auror Corps. Hogwart's defenders consisted of twenty Aurors under the leadership of Captain Scrimgeour (see p. 297 for Rufus Scrimgeour's conflict with Frank Longbottom in 1977) and Dumbledore's vigilante group, the Order of the Phoenix (see p. 513 for the post-war prosecution of Albus Dumbledore and the subsequent pardoning of Minerva McGonagall, Daedalus Diggle et. al)._

_With Dumbledore gone, the Aurors decided that the best course of action were to find reinforcements - a decision that Diggle later used in his testimony to sway public opinion in the Wizengamot as indicative of the ineffectiveness of the Auror Corps. The Order resented bitterly the actions of Rufus Scrimgeour, as they assembled en-masse through the use of everyday objects enchanted with the Protean Charm (see Appendix E for an alphabetical listing of relevant spells and artifacts)._

_James Potter, a rising star of the Auror Corps, broke ranks to declare solidarity with the Order of the Phoenix at last. With the man who had considered his best friend, Sirius Black, he rode out on broomstick as the Order mounted the same carriages and boats with carried Hogwarts students to and from the school at the start and end of term. Their objective was to reach the edge of the anti-apparition wards at Hogwarts._

_By the time the Order had reached Hogsmeade to mount this attack, James Potter was dueling no less than twenty three Death Eaters from the roof of the Hog's Head with Aberforth Dumbledore. The Dark Lord was systemically executing the residents of Hogsmeade, one at a time._

_Sirius Black was nowhere to be seen. He was found in Honeydukes with several severe lacerations on his body after the battle. (See p. 453 for the trial of Sirius Black and a list of theories as to the possible times he joined the service of the Dark Lord.)_

_The Death Eaters may have outnumbered the Order of the Phoenix by overwhelming odds of three to one, but the residents of Hogsmead proved willing to defend their homes and provide cover to the inferior force, leading to sustained but proportional casualties on both sides._

_The most bitter battle of all was between Lily Potter and Emmanuel Greengrass. Greengrass was known for both his skill in dueling as a star student of Filius Flitwick in the 1970's and for his apathy regarding the lives of his victim. On the night of his battle, his wife was expecting. After a running battle through the side streets of Hogsmeade, she cast the curse which ended his life and Lily Potter joined her husband James and Minerva McGonagall in pitched battle against the Dark Lord himself._

_They held off the Dark Lord until the arrival of Albus Dumbledore upon the wings of his Phoenix and the Death Eaters fled, routed._

"Bishop takes H-seven, check," Hermione declared with a touch of smugness.

I looked up sharply. Hermione's pieces were arranged beautifully in an attack on the white King.

"King takes H-" Ron clamped his lips shut and stopped to think, his eyes widening.

Hermione's smug smile turned into a fullblown smirk.

"White resigns," Ron decided after a minute, bewildered.

…

**Can we freeze, come on, surrender our rights and wrongs?**

I had been sitting in Dumbledore's office for a while. He had gone from patronizing me, to lecturing me, to debating me, and now he was somewhere between the three.

Sirius, to my right, was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. Hermione, to my left, was exhibiting her nervous ticks in order - flicking her right forefinger against her knee, curling a strand of hair and tapping her left foot softly.

I was getting more and more indignant. "I'm not going back. That's not my home. That was never my home. Why can't I be at Hogwarts?" I repeated.

Professor Dumbledore looked intensely troubled as he went back to that single, slowly crumbling reason. "There are protections protections old and sacred. I fear for you safety-"

I cut him off. "Hermione and Ron played a game of chess yesterday."

Hermione's face turned a bright red. Sirius looked extremely confused.

"Hermione said something really brilliant. She said that if we were at a disadvantage, we can't just wait around until we stop being defensible. She _completely_ beat Ron yesterday," I emphasized.

A hint of interest crept into the Headmaster's eyes.

"Life isn't the same as chess," Hermione said timidly.

"No, it's not," I agreed. "But the ideas are the same. We're fighting in a war, whether or not the ministry wants to believe it. When we were eleven, Ron won all his games because he found some cool way to checkmate us. Nowadays, Ron's gotten unbeatable. That's because he trades off all his pieces until he's in a winning position. But life isn't chess," I said, slamming my hands on Dumbledore's desk.

"We don't want to trade any of our lives away for theirs," I finished, a little more calmly.

"I... I agree with Harry," Hermione said. "We can't just stop and rest while V-voldemort builds up his strength. We can't be children anymore."

I don't think Professor Dumbledore agreed with us, judging by the worry in his eyes.

No one had the courage to break the silence which followed but Professor Dumbledore.

"I will be assembling the Order of the Phoenix once more, Sirius." There was no joy in his words, no hope - only the fear. The fear was not of death for an old man, but death of those that he loved.

"I think it's time to go home, Dumbledore," Sirius said. There was a touch of something sardonic in his voice.

"Home?" I couldn't help but wonder. Then I frowned. "Aren't you on the run?"

Sirius nodded. "But so is my house." He smiled, always joking, always Sirius.

Hermione had a bit of a revelation. "But so is Hogwarts, isn't it?" she blurted out.

Sirius gave her a winning smile. "Exactly. Number 12, Grimmauld Place, is Unplottable. And now that we need to fight again, it's the perfect place to use as Headquarters. Besides, there's a bit of poetic justice in this, right? The ancestral home of the most ancient and noble house in Britain being used to fight You-Know-Who."

Dumbledore nodded. "I would like to place some more precautionary measures on the house, if you would allow it, Sirius."

He nodded. "You should probably move the Weasleys in with me as well. They're going to be targets. I was talking with Arthur last night and he says that Bill's coming back to Britain to work in Gringotts' main branch."

"Excellent. I suppose, then, if Harry desires it so strongly, he should have the right to live with you."

"I'm not going back. Put them somewhere safe, or guard them if you want to," I said, gritting my teeth.

"Very well. I will speak to Petunia on this matter," Dumbledore conceded. "As for the Weasley family, I will work to convince Molly of this. I doubt she would enjoy moving very much."

"I want to go too," Hermione said, at last. "I've written to mom and dad about it already. They're not very supportive , but they said that I could if I have to."

Sirius nodded offhandedly. "Well, then, if it's settled, I'll take them by Floo."

Dumbledore picked up his wand off his desk and flicked it in the direction of the fireplace and we stood.

…

**I feel something so right doing the wrong thing. **

Sirius was arguing with Hermione about the contents of the Black Library again. He was convinced that the books should be torched because there could be no relevant content.

"You can't just burn books!" Hermione screamed hysterically, her hands fluttering. She let out an aggravated noise and plopped herself onto an armchair in disgust. It let out of a cloud of reddish dust. She wrinkled her nose and whimpered. I sneezed.

After Professor Dumbledore had cast the most powerful ward that he had access to - the Fidelius Charm, he had left me with Sirius and Hermione with the hope that we could make the place livable before we drove Molly Weasley insane when she arrived.

"These are evil books! Witch books!" Sirius protested. "They don't expect the inq-"

Hermione's completely unamused expression killed the joke before it left his mouth and Sirius walked out of the library, shooting me a warning glance.

I raised my book up so he could see the cover - a dry and boring work about May of 1978 which I trouble not falling asleep to. I preferred Goldstein's well-told history more but this was one of the works recommended in the bibliography. Professor Dumbledore had gladly allowed me to borrow it.

"He might be right, you know," I supplied. The door had slammed itself shut a while ago. Hermione turned her ire in my direction.

"You too, Harry?" she complained.

"I know you want to read them." I tried to keep any accusation out of my voice.

"When's the last time you slept?" she said, with a hint of nonchalance.

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't change the subject. If you're going to read them, be careful. Sirius knows what they can do to you."

Hermione's stare turned into something frightening in the candlelight and I realized that there were dark rings under her eyes. "I'll only die once, Harry Potter. And books won't kill me."

"Don't say that."

An uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach.


End file.
